


spoiled, rotting in the blood

by crownedcarl



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: (probably), Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Sexual Tension, gratuitous use of the word fuck, negan receives the "not as much of a jerk as you could have been" award
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 06:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11248602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: Rick gets pneumonia, and Negan gets a clue.





	spoiled, rotting in the blood

**Author's Note:**

> here's something short & sweet to follow up the serial killer au! this is yet another speedwrite fueled by red bull, so beware any grammatical errors i might've missed. no warnings apply to this, other than negan being generally creepy & taking full, shameless advantage of rick being under the weather. i'd love any and all comments, seeing as how i'm super new to this pairing! quick reminder that i'm on tumblr @crownedcarl. the title's from clementine von radics, and without further ado, enjoy!

Rick isn’t there to greet him at the gates.

First things first: Negan is a reasonable guy. He doesn’t expect Rick to temper his annoyance and downright resentment whenever Negan comes to collect from Alexandria, but he _does_ expect to be treated with a certain level of respect, because Rick owes him that much. After showing both lenience and mercy, that first night, Rick should really learn to show some damn appreciation and gratitude.

But Rick isn’t there to greet him. Instead, Negan gets that shifty, pot-bellied guy with the mullet, and he doesn’t do a damn thing to conceal his displeasure, his thunderous scowl making the man flinch.

“Rick is unavailable at this current time,” Negan’s hastily told, and he clutches a hand to his heart in what is _mostly_ mock-disappointment, looking around at his men, one by one, as if to say _can you believe this fucking turn of events?_

“Unavailable?” Negan grins, resting Lucille against his thigh. It doesn’t escape his notice that the guy on guard duty slowly backs up a step, eyes glued to Lucille’s barbed exterior. He manages to tear his eyes away, expression morphing into unease when Negan says “I’ll be damned, here I was thinking we were enjoying our honeymoon period, but I guess I was wrong. Rick’s _unavailable!”_

The shaky guy squirrels away from Negan when he steps forward, and then seems to realize his error. He’s got no spine, but he looks Negan in the eyes when he once again dutifully relays what sounds like a rehearsed message. “I’m very sorry to be the bringer of bad news, but Rick is unavailable-”

“-at this current time,” Negan finishes for him, slowly swinging Lucille up until she’s level with this guy’s face. He’s staring right down the length of her when Negan whispers “You wouldn’t be lying to me, now would you? I came all this way, and if I find out Rick’s off somewhere, scavenging shit to _keep_...that won’t end well, no _sir._ ”

His little messenger is practically shaking in his boots, seconds away from pissing himself and passing out right there in the puddle, but he pulls his voice together enough to mumble “He’s - he’s unavailable in the sense that he’s under the weather.”

After a second, he quietly adds “Very poorly. Green at the gills, you might say, although in my personal expertise I’d say he’s looking more blue-”

Negan can’t tell if this guy is fucking with him or not, but if he _is,_ Negan isn’t going to let it fucking slide. He’s seen Rick beaten, cowed like an injured animal, but _sick_ is something else.

“What the hell,” Negan laughs, because he’s not about to start worrying when this could all just be one elaborate story to keep Rick out of his clutches. “Rick, the almighty leader, is out with the sniffles? That’s the line you want to feed me?”

Dangerously, looming over the pale, sweating mess of a man, Negan asks “Do I look _stupid_ to you?”

He can hear his men snickering, anticipating one hell of a beatdown, when a woman’s voice cuts into Negan’s tirade. Pretty little Rosita is standing there, arms crossed, staring Negan down as she says “He’s _sick._ What part of that are you having trouble understanding?”

Negan wets his lips, because this is a treat he didn’t see coming. Rosita’s glares ignite something gleeful inside of him, ever since he saw her wide-eyed agony as he beat her ginger boyfriend to pieces right in front of her.

But Rick, unfortunately, is so much more fun to antagonize. “Is that right?” Negan muses, gesturing for his men to get the fuck to work, because the show is over. “I’ll have to pay him my respects, then. You mind escorting me?”

That ever-present scowl on her lips, Rosita rolls her eyes. “Better be careful,” she mutters as Negan walks behind her. “You might come down with something infectious.”

“I knew you had a thing for me,” he laughs, noting how whenever he inches closer, Rosita slips seamlessly away, avoiding any contact. “You worried about me, sugar?”

Tonelessly, Rosita replies “Worried I’m going to have to listen to you all day, sure.”

Girl’s got spunk, that much is for-fucking-sure.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he offers her in terms of parting words; watching her back stiffen and head whip around to pin him with an acidic glare is so, so worth it. “Count on that, sweetheart.”

She disappears around a corner, leaving Negan with his fucking dick in his hand, standing outside of the Grimes house and leisurely taking the stairs up to the porch. “Open up,” he hollers, because someone had the goddamn _nerve_ to lock the door, knowing full-well he’d be on his way. “Open up before I break your door down!”

Olivia - timid, meek Olivia - slowly comes into view as she turns the lock and steps to the side to let Negan in. Her pale little face looks pinched, and Negan can hear a baby wailing from inside the house.

“This isn’t a good time,” she mumbles, as if she’s forgotten that Negan _owns_ them. Woman grew some balls since last time, it seems, because she gives Negan her back, a wide-open target, as she rushes to gather Judith from her high chair and rock her gently.

From upstairs, Negan can hear coughing, and his eyebrows make a valiant attempt at escaping up into his hairline. Shit; Rick really _is_ sick. Negan thought for _sure_ Rick was being a slippery bastard, trying to buy more time to collect what Negan’s owed, but judging by the occasional harsh, rattling cough, Rick’s either one damn fine actor or really, truly sick.

“You get on outta here,” Negan tells Olivia, stepping in close to stroke Judith’s fine hair, showing Olivia sharp teeth when she looks to be resisting the urge to snatch Judith away from his touch. “Rick and I have some things that need discussing, in private.”

While she stands frozen, Negan leans in close, whispering “You get out of here now, or I’ll make sure you and little Judy both get _real_ closely acquainted with my Lucille.”

She’s gone in two seconds flat, hauling ass faster than Negan thought was possible, and while he’s reluctantly impressed, another hoarse cough reminds him of why he’s here. “Oh, _Rick!”_ he calls out as he’s ascending the stairs, “You _better_ not be trying to play me, because I don’t take too kindly to-”

Slowly trailing off, standing in the open doorway to Rick’s room, Negan’s met with a sight he almost recoils from. There’s a wastebasket by the bed, stinking to high heavens, and amidst all the crumpled-up napkins and half-empty glasses of water, there’s the unmistakable scent of _sickness_ permeating the room, the air pungent with the smell of stale sweat and trapped air.

Negan briefly considers making his way back down the stairs and outside where the air doesn’t smell like death, but then he hears retching from the bathroom, wincing briefly in sympathy before schooling his expression. “You in there, Rick?” Negan calls, his tone jovial. “Better not be jerking off, ‘cause I’m coming in!”

Aw, _hell._ He doesn’t even get the pleasure of catching Rick in a compromising situation - at least, not the kind Negan would like to revisit at night.

Rick’s bent over the toilet, breathing raggedly, slowly turning his head with a feverish sluggishness until his eyes land on Negan’s. The guy looks like death fucking warmed over, and Negan whistles, because he’s almost a little impressed by just how green Rick’s looking.

Grossed out, too, but mostly impressed. “Holy _hell,_ Rick,” Negan laughs, crouching down and putting the back of his hand to Rick’s forehead, more than a little surprised when Rick doesn’t instantly jerk away. Judging by how warm he is, the fever might’ve melted his brain by now, leaving his common sense and distaste for Negan forgotten. “You look like _shit.”_

Rick finally seems to regain some of his strength, because he scowls at Negan and ducks away from his searching hand, resting his forehead against the cool porcelain. “Better get out,” Rick tells him, his voice ground away to something raw and torn, “B’fore you get sick.”

Not that Rick cares, Negan reminds himself, smirking at the painful arc Rick’s spine makes as he hacks into the toilet again; he’s just trying to get rid of Negan, not wanting him to see Rick at his lowest and most vulnerable.

Tough shit. Negan’s staying.

-

“What’s the matter, Rick?” Negan asks, not bothering to conceal his wide grin. “Am I not giving you the best fucking care available to you? What’s with that frown?”

Rick hasn’t moved much. He’s been curled up beneath the covers, shivering, and routinely throwing the duvet off, claiming he’s too hot one second only to have his fucking teeth chattering as soon as the words are out of his mouth. It’s nothing but the flu, Negan thinks, rolling his eyes at Rick’s repeated attempts at getting out of bed, claiming _I have to be out there, I have to help._

The guy’s hopeless. Real fucking martyr, but then again, Negan’s always known that.

To be fair, Negan hasn’t done jack squat other than throw a pillow in Rick’s face and hand him a glass of water that Rick wasn’t able to keep down. Negan’s opened a window for him, at least, to air out the _smell._

He’s not here to play nurse, but he’s got to admit Rick’s starting to fucking worry him, practically comatose in bed, his veins showing through his skin.

“Go,” Rick rasps, his throat working roughly to swallow. Must feel like sandpaper, after all that vomiting. “Jus’ go.”

“No can do,” Negan informs him, propping his feet up on Rick’s bed, flipping through one of Carl’s comic books. “Misery loves company, so here I am.”

Rick inhales, probably getting ready to throw some half-assed insult at Negan, but then Rick _folds_ abruptly in half and _gasps,_ sounding like he’s being fucking stabbed, and Negan finally starts to think that something might be really fucking wrong, here.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he ends up asking, watching as Rick wheezes and coughs, and Negan wonders if maybe Rick’s getting _worse,_ not better. He risks flattening his palm to Rick’s forehead once more, and what he finds does _not_ fucking comfort him.

Rick’s burning up.

Negan stomps downstairs and barks for the closest Alexandrian to bring a goddamn doctor. The little lady he asks stutters, then says _we don’t have any doctors. Not after…_

Not after you. Well, shit.

“Dwight!” Negan calls out, and Dwight comes as an obedient dog would. “You get the good doctor and bring him here, _now.”_

Someone laughs. Negan turns slowly around, and there’s Rosita again, glaring daggers, one corner of her mouth upturned in a vicious little smirk. “That’s rich,” she mutters, “You’re the reason he’s sick, and you’re _worried?”_

“You wanna tell me,” Negan begins, stalking ever closer, “What in the _fuck_ you’re talking about? How am I supposed to have gotten him sick?”

“Our antibiotics,” Rosita informs him. “Your guys, they took it all last time. Knocked Olivia over to get it. Wasn’t enough to kill our only medical professional,” she spits, “You had to take our medicine, too. But I guess half is what you _say_ it is, right?”

Oh, he is sorely tempted to smash her skull to bits and pieces, but the girl’s got a point. Negan’s got his men under orders to terrorize the citizens a little, keep them scared; he hadn’t anticipated they’d go this damn far, though.

“What the hell’s the matter with him, anyway?”

There’s that famous eyeroll. Negan was starting to miss it.

“He’s got pneumonia, jackass. He can’t breathe. Can’t keep anything down, either.”

That’s a riot - pneumonia, of all things, in this fucking heat?

Rosita has either gotten very, very good at reading him, or else the girl knows what questions to anticipate. “He fell into a lake,” she tells him, and if there’s a thinly veiled amusement in her voice, Negan doesn't call her out on it. Not this time, at least, because she reverts back to that stoic, sneering expression soon enough. “Looking for shit for _you._ Hasn’t been breathing right for days.”

Negan does not fucking enjoy her tone of voice, but this one time, he’ll let it slide. “And you’re telling me not a single one of you thought to tell me the almighty Rick was on his goddamn deathbed? I had to come here and _find_ him spewing snot and puke everywhere?”

Softly, pointedly, Rosita says “We didn’t think you’d care.”

Negan doesn’t have time for her goddamn judgement, but the thing is, she ain’t wrong. He hadn’t even considered that Rick might get sick, because out of this whole godforsaken town, Rick’s one of the few worth keeping around. “Watch your mouth,” he tells Rosita, and the little spitfire bares her teeth, challenging.

He starts to walk away, back towards the house, when Rosita’s voice reaches his ears again. “We’ve got other people that are sick, you know.”

And Negan, exasperated, shouts back “I guess the good doctor’s got his fucking hands full, then!”

-

He knows his heated confrontation and not-so-subtle outburst must've caused quite the fucking commotion in town, because Negan's going out of his way to make sure Rick doesn't die on him in his damn sleep. It's not gonna look good, having people thinking he's gone _soft_ , but there's really no point in denying it, at least not to himself. As soon as Rosita's out of his damn face, Negan's back at Rick's bedside, sighing deeply, kicking Rick's feet and startling him out of a feverish slumber.

"Doctor's on his way," Negan tells him, holding up a hand to preemptively shush Rick, knowing exactly what's coming. "Keep your fucking panties on, he's gonna look at everyone else, too."

And is that a fucking _smug_ look Rick shoots him, after the surprise has brightened and then dulled in his eyes?

Christ. Negan's pretty transparent, apparently, and he does not like it one bit. Feels like his skin is crawling, having Rick staring at him.

But Rick's not done surprising him, it seems. "...thanks," he finally tells Negan, wary but genuine, like he's waiting for Negan to reveal this was all some elaborate trick to fuck with Rick's head, anticipating his next dick move.

All Negan says in response is "It's not personal, _prick_. Can't have you dying on me and letting one of these incompetent sacks of shit take your place, now can I?"

For a moment, he thinks Rick's got nothing to say to that. There's a stilted silence between them, and then Rick breaks out into a laugh, which then turns into a round of deep coughing, and Negan's staring at Rick with blatant curiosity.

He's never made Rick laugh, before. It ain't half bad.

"You jus'," Rick sighs, running a hand across his face, bleak smile tugging at his mouth. "Sometimes, you sound like someone I used to know."

There's a story, there, and it must be one hell of a tragic one, because Rick's eyes are distant and haunted, remembering something he'd rather forget. Negan's familiar with that kind of grief, the kind that only happens after the deepest kind of love. _Christ_ , Negan almost doesn't want to ask.

He will - not today, maybe, but some day. He'll get the whole story out of Rick, and maybe he'll give something back, too.

"Hold that thought," Negan tells him, rising from his chair as footsteps sound up the stairs. The doctor peers inside, then lets the door creak fully shut as he waits in the hallway; he knows better than to interrupt Negan, despite being called here at Negan's very fucking urgent request. "Tell me later, why don't you?"

Quietly, almost drowsily, Rick whispers "Maybe. Maybe another day."

"Alright," Negan sighs. "I can be patient. Remember that, Rick," he mutters, "This shit ain't for free. You owe me."

It's all bluster, all for show. It doesn't matter, anyway. Rick passes out cold, right then and there, and Negan is almost glad for it, because it means that the fingers he runs through Rick's hair go unnoticed, and Rick's not awake to protest the way Negan's thumb strokes his jaw, catching on his stubble.

He lets the doctor inside, descending the stairs slowly. In the kitchen, on his way out, the fucking future serial killer startles the _shit_ out of him when he appears out of nowhere and says "Thanks, for helping my dad."

Negan takes a deep breath; how hadn't he noticed, before? It's a brand new day. "Don't worry about it, kid," Negan tells him, finding his smirk again. "And don't fucking mention it."

Carl's surprisingly expressive, even with the one eye. He's staring at Negan, wordlessly conveying something Negan would rather not think about. _You can lie to me, but not to yourself._ How the hell does the kid always manage to take him by fucking surprise, making Negan feel like he's an open fucking book?

Leaving the house, Negan can feel the sun beating down on his back. He takes a deep breath - it's a brand new day, after all. He's allowed to enjoy it.


End file.
